Pablo has been reading for his supper for as long either of us can remember. I think he likes the sound of his declamatory voice. I like having my mind caught up in a yarn while I'm cutting, stirring, kneading.
We used to read articles from news magazines. Now, it's mainly longer works that he picks up from the library.
Heavens, what did we start with? Was it some Mark Twain? Some Arthur Conan Doyle? Couldn't have been Thomas Pynchon, could it? I don't really remember, we've been through so much. Lots of times, he gets a notion in his head (reading excerpts from "Innocents Abroad" along with bits from "Typee," for example...or doing comparative look-sees at Poe and Lovecraft.) Right now, it's Herodotus (Greece's Twain, or was Twain an American Herodotus? - of course, it's all about the translation, and Aubrey de Selincourt's is a wonderfully conversational sounding one) and Heliodorus (the scene in I think it was the third book where Caliseris takes the piss out of Herodotus and his "roving reporter" style is so darn funny).
We're really eating these stories up, so will be finished soon. I'm hoping that Pablo will in the mood for follwing up with this year's birthday present as it looks like a good time and does sort of relate.